Observations from a Porthole of the Famous Old Coast Guard Cutter “Bear”
The Bear, after more than half a century of service, now retired from active duty, rests at Oakland, California.
A mass meeting was recently held at Oakland which was participated in by the Oakland Chamber of Commerce and the military services, including the Navy, to save this historic craft from the scrap heap. A bill has recently passed providing for the Bear’s transfer to the City of Oakland. An enviable record of spectacular achievement, dating from her induction into the Coast Guard service when she figured so markedly in the Far North Greely Relief Expedition, has followed her through many years of service, judicial, humanitarian, and relief. The Eskimos termed her their “Visiting Angel.” Battles many has she fought with the elements, for that is the prime requisite to existence north of the Arctic circle. Every summer she visited the tip of the continent to land mail, government supplies, etc., at Point Barrow and many other Far North points. She was forced to do so at times when her chances were best to avoid being caught in the Arctic ice pack. A shift of the wind to an onshore breeze would have sealed her doom by being caught between the ice pack and the shore. A few times she was so caught and all but lost, before a change in direction of the wind released her. Even the ice in Bering Sea frequently held her for periods up to twenty-four days at a time. Another time she was forcefully carried with the field ice up through Bering Strait to the vicinity of the Arctic circle before changing winds brought about her release. Perhaps one of the greatest accomplishments of the Bear was the starting of reindeer propagation in Alaska by a herd of reindeer which she transported, many years ago, from Northern Siberia. From this nucleus hundreds of thousands of reindeer now roam the Arctic region. The moss abounding there is uncovered by the hoof of the deer which is able to cut through the snow and ice. Reindeer driven from the east coast of Norton Sound, overland, during one winter, by officers of the Bear and others, saved from starvation the crews of some twenty New Bedford whalers who, having been forced to abandon their ships off Point Barrow as the result of being caught in the ice pack, were facing imminent starvation.
Not always did the Bear succeed in administering justice in a normal and judicial manner. Her commanding officer served as a United States commissioner, an officer as deputy United States marshal, and often she carried a floating court to the outposts of civilization. One instance serves to explain the unusual conditions confronting the dispensation of justice. The captain of the Bear arranged with the U. S. Bureau of Education teacher at Cape Prince of Wales, Alaska, each spring upon the arrival of the Bear, to display the American ensign if everything was all right. One spring the captain was not greeted with the usual display. The chief of the village explained to the captain that some of the young students had given the teacher trouble in the classroom, and ill feeling developed. One afternoon, after class hours, three of the young men called the teacher to the school door and shot him. Upon learning this, the captain of the Bear issued the order to the chief: “Bring those young men on board the Bear.” The chief saluted and departed. Two days later a skin boat hove alongside the Bear and the chief delivered the bodies of the three young men to the captain. The boys bad departed from the village before the Bear arrived and it had been necessary for the loyal Eskimos to hunt them down, and, wishing to do the right thing, they adopted the most direct method—that of faking an eye for an eye.
As the result of my observations I am convinced that the Alaskan Eskimo is of Mongolian descent. After seeing the Siberian Eskimos in their country, how strongly they resemble the Chinese, and noting the freedom with which the Eskimos navigate the Bering Sea waters, it is not stretching things to conclude that it was an easy matter for the Siberian Eskimos to cross over to Alaska from East Cape, Siberia, to Cape Prince of Wales, only about sixty-five miles of open water, in the summer time. Natives on St. Lawrence Island relate the story that has been passed down by tongue, there being no written Eskimo language, to the effect that Siberian Eskimos came over to St. Lawrence Island many years ago in large skin boats and carried off many of their women. Even to this day, each spring all of the Eskimos living on King Island in Bering Sea, migrate in large skin boats, holding from twenty-five to thirty-five persons each, from King Island to Nome, Alaska, where they remain all summer. The latter distance is about the same as that across Bering Strait. In the fall, yearly, it was the Bear’s duty (now that of the new Diesel-electric modern cutter Northland) to take these several hundred King Island Eskimos on the cutter at Nome, and transport them back to their winter home, King Island, for the fall storms make it too hazardous for the Eskimos to make the return trip in their skin boats.
King Island, located in North-Central Bering Sea, is a rock not unlike Gibraltar. It is a desolate place. I asked one of the natives living there why they remained in such a place during the long winters, when they could remain in Nome. He remarked: “When ice come, front yard, back yard, all around hunting ground—why for live place where have got hunt game when here he come to us.” One of the most remarkable ice boxes I have ever seen is on King Island. They hunt the walrus, seals, ducks, etc., on the ice, and in order to have enough ' meat to last them during the off season, they deposit tons of the game in a natural cavern in the solid rock, underground.
Polar bears are remarkable animals, keen of scent and not at all dumb. They are apt at eluding pursuers. They have a strong love for their offspring. Kleindsmidt was able to capture a cub, white polar variety. The mother hovered near, and when the ship got underway the mother followed it for miles and miles, close to, diving under cakes of ice and long pieces of field ice, giving her last ounce of strength to keep up with her cub.
When the Bolsheviki took charge of Anadyr, Siberia, the Bear was ordered there to investigate confiscation of American interests. When we arrived the place looked deserted. Few people, other than the Hudson’s Bay and American Trading Post representatives, remained. We learned that they believed the Bear would shell the town in retaliation for their confiscating all stores and moneys belonging to the American Trading Post. Finally an emissary passed the word out in the hills and in a couple of days a tug bearing representatives of the city government, with the red flag hoisted in the bow, came alongside the Bear to treat with our captain, the late Commander F. S. VanBoskerck. The committee agreed to make restitution of the seized property over a period of years. We learned from other sources that when the Red delegation arrived at Anadyr to take over the town, they told representatives of the city to join them in an amicable settlement of affairs and advised the leading citizens to meet them in the city hall, “everyone coming disarmed.” The trusting citizens kept their promise, but the Bolsheviki, by using concealed arms, sprung a surprise attack at the meeting, killing about nineteen of the leading citizens and then threw their bodies out on the river ice.
A pitiful case was brought to our attention. Two refugees from Russia, seeking the back-door route to freedom, had reached Anadyr just ahead of the Bolsheviki. They were a young married couple, he a fine musician, and his wife a beautiful young woman. After the Reds took over Anadyr, the head of the Bolsheviki took the young woman up to his house and there kept her a prisoner for his own ends. While we were in port the young couple managed to escape to an American trading schooner, which landed them in Nome. After our return to Nome we learned from the couple details of their treatment while in Siberia, and could not help but feel bitterly toward any regime that so operates.
The Eskimo has unlimited faith in the Yankee. Airplanes, powered vessels, etc., which have come under their eyes have caused him to believe our people capable of anything. The school teacher at St. Lawrence Island told me of an instance that illustrates this. An Eskimo dug a ditch, in the summer time, from a pool of slush ice in a depression nearby, up hill to his home. He had heard of irrigation and wondered why not run the water, used for drinking and cooking, up to his house? When the water failed to run up hill, he went to the school teacher and said: “I dig him ditch, you make water run.” On St. Lawrence Island the Eskimos in cold weather (with very little or no clothing on), sleep in a large fur sleeping bag. It is not uncommon for the whole family to sleep in the same bag. When a young man becomes engaged it is customary for him to live with and work for the bride’s family one year. At Christmas time they have a custom on this island of holding exercises in the school building, where extremely few clothes are worn by the young women and girls. Not as many natives live in the underground sod houses as formerly. The trading schooners and Bureau of Education have been the means of the natives getting in wood from Nome or Seattle with which to build simple one or two-room homes. Their fuel is driftwood picked up along the shore. They resort to building ice houses when out on the hunt or when caught out in a storm on the ice pack. With them the taking of game for food is a religious rite. They reason that God gives them the food. I learned of a religious sacrifice that took place while the Eskimos of St. Lawrence Island were out on a whale hunt in a large skin boat. The harpoon was thrown but the line tangled and the boat was capsized. To appease God for such a mistake the youngest lad in the boat was sacrificed, one of the older men holding his head under the water as he came to the surface. Whenever a seal is killed the rite requires that a cup of fresh water be poured on the nose of the seal, for having lived in salt water all his life the seal would like a drink of fresh water as a last favor.
An Eskimo girl, Kiapuk by name, age about twenty, from Point Hope near Cape Lisburne, in the Arctic, who had been trained in the culinary arts by a University of Chicago girl, who with her minister- brother was school teacher at Point Hope, went to Seattle to attend school. One evening I observed her enjoying an American steak and I said: “Kiapuk, what do you think of our food here in the States?” She replied: “Oh, I like it but not better than our food at home.” When I pressed her for an expression as to just what food she most enjoyed, she replied: “Muk-tuk.” Muk-tuk is whale meat. One can imagine the thrills Kiapuk had when she saw her first steam engine, street car, large building, movie, park, etc., in Seattle. She almost went into hysterics at some of the sights. Her greatest thrill was the first moving picture. One of her greatest pleasures was to take streetcar rides. Her name, like those of all Eskimos, was a nature name, “Kia” meaning “big” and “puk” meaning “wave.”
As deputy U. S. marshal it was my duty to arrest a murderer at Point Hope, above the Arctic circle. During the long winter the missionary located at that point went on a dog-team trip up to Point Barrow. Jimmie M—, the Bureau of Education school teacher at Point Hope, lived with the missionary, whose name was Dr. Hoar. During the latter’s absence of about two weeks Jimmie took unto himself an Eskimo maid by the name of Annie. They were greatly concerned at the return of Dr. Hoar, for he was strait-laced. They held a council of war and Annie handed a rifle to Jimmie as Dr. Hoar drove up in his dog sled. Jimmie, knowing what the “fair” lady desired, shot the doctor several times, killing him. After much rounding up of witnesses the trial was held. Jimmie is locked up for the remainder of his days and Annie is still the village vamp at Point Hope. It should be remarked that the Eskimos are a highly moral race.
The Bear has had thrills in the open sea as well as in the ice packs. Machinery trouble one year forced us to wholly depend upon our sails. After sailing several hundred miles, we were met by another cutter and safely towed over 2,000 miles to Seattle. Another time we were forced to anchor on a lee shore with an onshore gale momentarily threatening our destruction on the rocks. But the anchors held for two days. The Bear always seemed to have a charmed life. The gale of January, 1920, off the coast of Washington, which did millions of dollars damage to the forests of the Northwest, threatened to sink the Bear, but she came out of it all right.
The animal life of Bering Sea and the Arctic is interesting. The fur-bearing seal is one of the most remarkable. They are the original navigators. How wonderful it is they are endowed with a sense, possibly a fifth one, which enables them to navigate with as much accuracy as the average ship. Each spring they migrate, tens of thousands strong, from somewhere south of the equator, up through the Pacific Ocean, then through the narrow openings between the Aleutian chain, and without fail are able to locate their first home, either St. Paul or St. George Island, in the mid portion of Bering Sea. I say first home for it is on these two islands that the “pups” are born, the father and mother becoming land animals for the few months which constitute the breeding seasons. In June, about two weeks ahead of the others, the bull seals, large fellows weighing about five times as much as the females, arrive at these two islands, whichever was their birthplace. Choosing along the rocky beach strategic places, from thirty-five to one hundred feet apart, the bulls there await the wives. While taking a series of motion pictures of seal life it was my pleasure to observe the vaudeville scenes attendant on the arrival and choosing of mates by the weaker sex. The females would play up and down the beach looking over the bulls ashore, there being much turning of their heads on what seems to be a universal joint. They were careful meanwhile to remain in the water. After they made their decision, just like a good convert, they would waddle up the beach to the big boy of their choice, there being meanwhile much ado with the nodding and waving of heads, especially that of the male, which seemed to plainly indicate something like this: “Come right along, Mirandy. You certainly are making a wise choice of a husband; I acknowledge it.” But wait; she has made a dire decision, one that she cannot change under penalty of death for, if she looks over the field and decides she wants to change her choice, let her beware. The first time she attempts to stray, “papa” may only nip a little hole in her pelt with his long, razor-like teeth, but if she again attempts it he is liable to lose his temper and, picking her up by the nape of her neck, will throw her over his head high enough to shake all desire out of her to abandon him. At his rookery, which finally contains from two to a hundred wives, all hands are virtually prisoners for weeks. The bull never sleeps, never gets a drink of water or a mouthful of food for about three months. After the pup arrives and posterity is assured, the mother is allowed to proceed to sea for food. She finds squid aplenty about sixty miles offshore from the islands. The pups gather together in large “pods” while mother is away, and it is marvelous to see the mother, upon her return, able without fail to pick out her own young from the thousands of other little fellows, and if anything happens to the mother, no other will adopt her offspring. This was pitifully demonstrated in the days when the seal poachers were active. As the males, except bachelors, stayed ashore during the summer, it was mainly the mothers the poachers caught at sea, and thousands of little ones starved to death, one for each mother that was taken by the poachers. The bulls are able to maintain a harem from the age of four to five years. Many battles royal take place in the rookeries when bachelors attempt to set up housekeeping. If they can manage to homestead on the outer sector, providing they too are formidable enough, they may succeed, but more frequently there is a unified opposition by all bulls in that region. If, when attacked by several of the big boys, the young bull retreats inshore and gets away fast enough, he survives, but alas for him if he follows his instinct, which is to seek the sea; for on the way to the beach the bulls will converge on the bachelor, and long before he makes water he will be torn to pieces. The result is that there are established bachelor rookeries a good distance to the side of the harems. By the thousands the young fellows stay there because they believe in safety first. The government has found that the herds multiply just as fast if about 25,000 of the three-year-old bachelors are killed off each summer; these are the pelts disposed of by the government at the fur sales, which are to make up milady’s fur coat. No females are killed. The manner in which the bachelors are killed is crude but effective. Several natives of the islands, employed by the Bureau of Fisheries, cut out a hundred or so of the bachelors, and drive them slowly quite a distance to the killing grounds. The seals travel slowly over the land and must not be overheated. On the killing ground they are given a blow over the head, then the throat is cut, and the pelt removed. The skins are trimmed of fat, salted, and shipped to St. Louis in barrels, which are taken to Seattle by Coast Guard vessels and other craft. By contract, the skins are tanned and dyed in St. Louis, and later sold to the highest bidder in lots.
At the end of the breeding season the bull seal has lost half of his weight, he is all in, and before he has strength enough to proceed to sea for food, he falls over in a heavy sleep which lasts for several days. Like the salmon, whose presence is not known “when he goes down to the sea,” when the seals leave the Pribilof Islands and head south no one is sure where they go. Passing vessels have sighted them bound south below the equator, still going. Some think they go to the Antarctic and others believe they have some feeding grounds out of the line of all travel. The seals bound south keep well out at sea. When they go north in the spring they follow our coast from ten to one hundred miles offshore. The Coast Guard cutter Snohomish each spring follows the seals from the Columbia River up to Dixon’s Entrance; then the cutter Unalga takes up the patrol, following them to the westward, to prevent poaching. Native Indians of the Northwest are allowed to take the seals en route by spearing only, and must use boats under oars. Each year the natives living at Quillayute River and Neah Bay, Wash., take about 600. The Canadian Indians kill a like amount.
The walrus who lives in the Arctic is another interesting animal. He is much larger than the fur seal, being as large as a baby hippo and about the same color. He feeds on the bottom of the Arctic Ocean, digging his clams with two large ivory tusks. His heavy teeth easily crush the shells and, strangely enough, the first process by nature is the separating of the shells from the meats. Whenever an Eskimo kills a walrus he always counts on about a bushel of shucked clams for his food. The Eskimo also eats the walrus meat. He especially likes hair seal meat and fur seal meat. The fur seal liver tastes like the finest calves’ liver. Young sea lion meat is delicious. Whale meat is the greatest delicacy for the Eskimo, but he likes ducks, too. The latter are most plentiful in the Arctic. The Eskimo likes all of his meats “ripe.” They seem to have a high immunity from ptomaine poisoning, but now and then they are victims of it, for when they find a dead animal washed ashore, it is too much of a temptation to them and-not infrequently results in their death. Each summer, in the old days, the Bear would clean boilers in the landlocked shelter of St. Lawrence Bay, Siberia. This was a hunters’ paradise. Without exaggeration, a blind man ashore there with a gun could kill hundreds of ducks. The air was virtually thick with them. All game with the Eskimo is a community affair, a “potlatch.” The old citizens are first taken care of. This custom does not extend to the whale bone, ivory and fox pelts, etc., as they become the property of the hunter. Foxes are killed by the natives with a 22- caliber high-power rifle. The native husky dogs love to chase the fox and sometimes kill one. So keen is their love of the hunt that when on the trail, under harness as a dog team, if a fox is sighted, the Eskimo driver is almost helpless, the dogs chasing off in whatever direction the fox is seen and many a wrecked sled load is the result.